


Intangible

by lorielen (culuyetille)



Series: Hwoarang/Jin ficlets [4]
Category: Tekken (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-28
Updated: 2005-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culuyetille/pseuds/lorielen
Summary: Dead_pen and I have been RP-ing again, and, again, Hwo and I needed a breath, and some analysing of what has happened.Hwoarang and Jin are now friends. They’re both taking part in the Fifth Iron Fist Tournament, and the Devil is struggling inside Jin. After a succession of unfortunate situations, Jin decides that the best way out of the complication is to kill himself. Hwoarang happens to be present in the room when he tries it. This fic takes up what happened after the suicide attempt, explaining in detail how everything went.
Relationships: Hwoarang/Kazama Jin (Tekken)
Series: Hwoarang/Jin ficlets [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913989





	Intangible

As dawn approached their shared hospital room, Hwoarang found himself suffering from insomnia. It had been little more than a few hours since the second time he’d waken up – the first one had been in itself a surprise, since the last thing he remembered was crawling out the window of that room to try and stop Jin from fucking _free-falling_ eight stores face-on the stone-path of the hospital garden. He stirred at the very memory; he was so frekkin afraid of heights, no wonder he had lost his fucking balance. So yeah, it was a wonder he had woken up at all. To find himself on a hospital gown and hospital bed, his position identical to Jin Kazama’s, except he wasn’t bound to his bed. It had been just a brief flash of consciousness before he was again embraced by artificially-induced sleep.  
  
The second time he opened his eyes it had been to the quiet, regular breathing of Jin next to him. There were no bounds now, but it didn’t take a genius to realise his friend had been heavily doped. Hwoarang figured that was precisely what he’d do to a suicidal wacko who had, just a few days ago, blacked out after damn near pummeling poor Yoshimitsu to his death with bare fists.  
  
And then tried to commit suicide.  
  
Now Hwoarang sat, legs crossed, on a chair placed next to Jin’s bed and facing the window. He was still somewhat groggy from whatever it was that they had injected on his veins, and he felt sore all over. There were small holes on his arms. He fucking hated the fucking needles. Jin’s heartbeat monitor beeped in a steady, nearly tranquilizing pace, but Hwoarang was far from calm.  
  
He was so drained. The last few days had been a succession of unexpected situations and testosterone competitions with Jin Kazama because they were both so freaking worried about each other and that Devil Creature, each man believed he knew what they should do and, as was to be expected, they didn’t agree on anything. The Tae-Kwon-Do ace breathed heavily; his ribs still hurt from the last Tournament fight, and on that state, he didn’t think he’d heal well. Fuck.  
  
He extended a hand to tentatively take Jin’s fingers between his own. The man’s limb was languidly warm, insipid to the touch. The very gesture felt awkward to Hwoarang. Whilst intimacy with him was easy to attain, he was far from approachable, from a strictly affective point of view. Too fucking proud to risk actually _minding_ someone, he was.  
  
He was so fucked up inside.  
  
"Fuck." He whispered, staring at his lap, and squeezed Kazama’s hand between his own. "When you wake up, I’m SO going to kick your ass for freaking me out like that." It was his own retarded way to show that he was angry at Jin for trying to kill himself and nearly dragging him along, the bastard. "I mean, what does it say about me that one of the best friends I’ve ever had wants to commit suicide?"  
  
It had been a heavy blow to Hwoarang. Not only had he been presented the possibility of losing Jin, but he also had learned that whatever it was that he did wasn’t enough to brighten up Jin’s existence and make the Japanese feel a little more attached to it. In fewer words, that he wasn’t good enough. Yeah, he _was_ goddamn aware it had not been about him, but anger was so much more manageable than fear and helplessness. Selfish bitching was that much easier for Hwoarang’s lips to form.  
  
So, he was a selfish bastard. Jin was a selfless moron. They should be fucking perfect for each other.  
  
... and _that_ path of thought wasn’t going to take them _anywhere_. Lately, Hwoarang had found himself increasingly unable to avoid his insistent attraction for Jin. To hell with it not being pertinent and just not fucking helping their situation in the least. He just... he wanted something he could hold onto. He tried to ditch his stupid crush and be a friend, practicing with this cocoon of person doped next to him, blissfully immobile and silent. Worryingly so.  
  
"I really don’t want to give up on you, Jin." The other man’s bruised knuckles were the most fascinating thing in the entire world, judging by the attention Hwoarang dedicated to them at present. His mouth barely moved. "But if even you give up on yourself, what sort of hope on us am I supposed to have?"  
  
The confession found no answer besides the Korean’s own wincing. Now that he had indeed voiced it, he’d passed the point of no return on his turmoiling feelings for Jin Kazama. Exhausted and ashamed, he rested his forehead against Jin’s limp hand.  
  
"Christ." He chuckled humourlessly. "The last thing you need right now is to be part of an ‘us’, eh Jin?" His voice was muffled by the mattress he leaned against, curled on an awkward angle, his words were kisses on the other fighter’s numb fingers. "You’d be far better off with a good, selfless friend who'd _remain a friend_ and that could comfort you and make you believe that it’s going to be alright in the end."  
  
He raised his head and carefully reached out to brush hair strands from Jin’s closed eyes. His stance became straighter as he faced the Japanese, bringing one hand to tuck some strands of hair behind the fighter’s ear.  
  
"Instead you’re stuck with me." A rare, self-deprecating smile. “And I’m not really good at the comfort thing." Oh, the ultimate euphemism. He was idly carding Jin’s hair now, somewhat afraid his touch might be abusive in some degree but needing too badly any sort of reassurance of his friend’s presence. "I’m more the ‘I don’t like this, I’ll kick its ass’ kind of guy, I don’t think I even know how to be a good friend. I could damn well have danced in the fucking pump-dance-machine thingy just to humor you that day." He grimaced. "Oh, never mention the fact that I was still scared shitless about the little fluffy tiger you’d gotten me earlier. Fuck, I know you got Xiaoyu something too, and you sure as hell don’t fancy _her_ , but it just... it seemed too much a boyfriend thing to me and I didn’t know what to think. And I fucking hate not knowing. But I think you’re familiar with that already."  
  
He ran a hand through his russet hair in reminiscent nervousness, then rested both elbows on his knees. There were a few things that he did know. He felt immeasurably tired right now, anticipating the hell that would break loose when Jin regained consciousness. He’d fucked up the man’s way to put an end to his misery and he wasn’t sure how to justify that without mentioning the ‘I care too damn much about you, you should take that into consideration you prick. You might have a bloodthirsty devil as alter ego but I that doesn’t mean I can’t like you’ part.  
...yeah. He cocked his head to one side and offered Jin a sheepish, half-apologetic half-winning smile.  
  
"You got yourself such a cowardly friend, Kazama. I couldn’t be arsed to try just a little harder and not be my usual shitty self with words and tell you that you’re important to me." Like that knowledge would have kept Jin from trying to kill himself. He was going in fucking circles and it all came back to his complete inability to handle feelings, let alone voice them.  
  
Okaaaaay, since he was having an admitting session, he might as well remember that when he was very dizzy and falling towards certain death, Jin had quit the whole Suicide Project and grabbed him solidly. …which had most likely resulted in him a) alive and b) doped and tied to a hospital bed. Right next to a self-pitying Hwoarang. Poor man. The Korean took a deep breath, reaching to touch Jin’s hand, gazing at the man's sun-kissed features. Jin's broad chest moved smoothly up and down, steady breathing. Hwoarang spent some instants hypnotised by it before he smiled a small smile, his thumb tracing circles on the back of Jin's hand.  
  
"The only reason I’m even saying all this is because I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress, lots of drugs and the subsequent verbal diarrhea, and also because I know you can’t hear me. But in some ways I wish you could, and just how corny is that?" He smiled with shreds of sadness and brought Jin’s fingertips to his lips. It was more of a brush than a kiss, really. "You’ve made me a fucking softie, Kazama. I’m going to kick your ass for that too, as soon as you open your eyes." He pressed his head against the mattress until it hurt at least a little, shut his eyes tightly and whispered against the other man’s warm flesh. "Don’t you dare leave me."


End file.
